


The Long Con: Maxwell

by KitFistoVevo (KevinPriceSuperstar)



Series: The Long Con [1]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 17:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14141142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KevinPriceSuperstar/pseuds/KitFistoVevo
Summary: The Long Con is an extended story that details the events that occur before, during, and after the game. This is Maxwell's story.





	The Long Con: Maxwell

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really rusty and haven't written in years, bone apple tea.
> 
> Note: This chapter ties in with The Long Con: Wes (Chapter 1)

 

**Maxwell** **: A Fresh Start**

 

William Carter puffed at his cheap cigar in silence, staring out the window of the train. _San Francisco_ , he thought, _a fresh start._

 

New York had treated the fledgling magician poorly. These Yanks were easier to bore than he had initially thought. Pulling rabbits from hats and “pick a card, any card” stopped making him any decent income much more quickly than he’d hoped. He didn’t expect San Francisco to be any different- just a new set of faces to boo him off of the stage, he assumed. Being as he was an immigrant, decent work was hard to come by. _The life of a starving artist is much better than making pennies at a factory,_ he mused, tugging at his collar. The air on the train was stuffy and hot, thanks to the blazing August sun against the desert landscape.

 

Despite the heat, he trembled as sweat beaded up on his brow. Something in the pit of his stomach quivered. Sign of a bad omen, or just bad eggs? He didn’t know. He’d been on this train for well over 5 days and had hardly slept- that must be it: exhaustion. He stood and made his way to the front of the car, quietly pardoning himself as he moved past people who blocked his path to the restroom. In the distance, William could make out a vague red and gold glimmer. Shrugging it off as a mirage, he stepped into the cramped chamber that counted as a restroom.

 

Stepping out, the last thing he remembered was being ejected from the train window, soaring through the air and swallowing dust.

 

–

**The Daily Speaker**

 

August 23, 1904

 

    **TRAGIC TRAIN CRASH**

    _Circus wagon struck at crossing_
    _Many passenger injuries reported_
    _Elephant unharmed_
    _A passenger train struck a circus wagon that had broken down along the tracks at the Old Mill crossing. Dozens of passengers were injured, and at least one man is missing. The missing man has yet to be identified, but fellow passengers described him as a tall, nervous fellow with an English accent. A search party was convened but quickly abandoned when it became apparent that a (Second column begins after tear in the first column) cage full of potentially dangerous trained monkeys had been vacated in the collision. Given the remoteness of the crash site, the scorching desert sun, and the escaped animals, the missing man has been presumed dead._
    _This is the third such incident at the crossing since the railway's construction in 1875, but the first to involve a circus wagon. Local businessman and railway investor Harold J. Rutherford assured this publication that all pertinent safety precautions had been taken, but no one could have foreseen the appearance of such a dangerous blockage on the tracks_

–

 

William sat up, blinking at the night sky. Where _was_ he? Soreness manifested in every square inch of his body as he forced himself to stand. Millions of stars littered the sky, but no light shined as brightly as the crimson M at his feet. Whispers echoed in his head, urging him to pick up the book- that he wouldn’t regret it. The moment he grasped the leathery cover, a new strength reinvigorated him. Somehow, this book found its way to him and gave him the energy to move on.

 

 _This is but a sliver of our power,_ They whispered. _We can_ _give you anything you want-_ _make you powerful beyond your wildest dreams- for a price._

 

“Anything?” William scratched his rounded chin thoughtfully.

 

_Or we can leave you out here to die of thirst, maybe starve to death._

 

“Name your price.” He said, more sure than ever.

 

 _We can discuss that later,_ Their voices twisted into a grin- if a voice could grin. _For now, we will grant your deepest desires. Your payment can wait. Open the book and set it on the ground._

 

William hesitated for a second, not loving the sound of that. Feeling the shadows growing impatient, he quickly did as he was told.

 

Not a moment later, a brisk wind caught the pages, flipping through them rapidly. Runes on the yellowed paged glowed red, flying off the page and surrounding his body in a tight coil. His tweed suit burned as the letters squeezed him tightly and absorbed into his now bare flesh. Thick black sludge rose from the spine of the Codex, surrounding the naked man and manifesting into a sleek pinstriped suit. His facial bones creaked and groaned, chin coming to a squared point. His messy hair slicked itself back into a well-oiled coif and his throat tightened.

 

 _William Carter is dead,_ They breathed a raspy laugh. _You should think of a name to replace the old drab one._

 

Ah, he was dead. That made sense. There’s no way this was him, alive, right now. This was purgatory, or somehow this is his test to make it into the pearly gates. _So much for Heaven_ , he thought bitterly.

 

“I’m rather fond of the name Maxwell,” he spoke, surprised at his own voice. He no longer sounded like his old London self- the shadows deepened his voice into a smooth Chicago growl.

 

 _Great. Let’s go, Maxwell_ , They slithered back into the book, making it shut itself. _We have much to discuss._

 

He wandered in the desert for what felt like a lifetime, guided by the voices until he came across a nearly deserted town with two wooden buildings and a brick general store. Maxwell crossed the threshold, looking as though he just stepped out of the salon, not the desert. He took a paper from the rack, reading over the front page story.

 

“Real sad, huh?” the shopkeeper said from behind the counter. “They never found those circus monkeys.”

 

“Mhm.” Maxwell breathed. “Tragic.” He stuffed the paper under his arm. “Do you sell postcards?” he inquired, approaching the counter.

 

“Yes sir, both’ll be 10 cents.” the shopkeeper said, pulling the only post card they had from the rack and setting it on the counter. “Mail dropoff is just ‘cross the street.”

 

He had to write his brother, let him know that he was safe. It was a bad idea to divulge all of the information, so he penned the letter carefully.

 

Jack,

    _The strangest thing has happened! Please discount all reports of my demise, should they reach you. I am very much alive, despite my recent misadventures. I have discovered something, a book of sorts. I have yet to decode it fully, but what little I have deciphered has opened my mind to terrifying new possibilities. I shan't say more through post - I fear it may attract unwanted attention. All will be explained when we meet. I shall continue west forthwith! -William_

Maxwell left the tiny town of North Fork, searching for some sort of transport to San Francisco. This train crash would definitely be the event to change his life forever.


End file.
